


background noise

by ienablu



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Baseball, Everybody Lives, M/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:38:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Operation Pitfall, Herc watches the end of the ABL season, and Stacker joins him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	background noise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twoskeletons (Lassiter)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=twoskeletons+%28Lassiter%29).



> Happy (belated) Birthday to Las, who wanted happy Herc/Stacker. Although I prefaced my "can I write you a thing?" message with "I cannot do baseball" this somehow happened. I hope you like it. <3
> 
> I have done what research I can on the ABL and baseball in general (mostly by texting my dad – thanks, Dad!), but I am by no means an expert, so notes on any possible corrections are welcome.

The players are bright points on the field, the white and sky blue of their uniforms crisp against the green of the grass. Dark blue plastic chairs spread out in front of him, and there's the slow sound of rubber soles on the concrete steps as someone descends the steps that rise behind him.

Herc ignores them, in favor of his drink.

The steps stop beside him. Herc sets his half-empty beer back down in the cup rest beside him, and turns to greet his guest.

It's Stacker.

Stacker, dressed more casually than Herc has seen him in years. In black Converse, dark-wash jeans, and a checkered purple polo, he looks more a Ranger than the Marshal.

"Herc," Stacker greets, with a hint of a smile.

"Stacker," Herc says. He climbs to his feet, holds his hand out for a shake. "Barely recognized you."

"Good to see your arm is doing better. Mind if I...?" he asks, nodding at the seat on the other side of Herc.

"Just so long as you don't touch my beer."

Stacker snorts. "Wouldn't think of it."

Herc steps into the aisle, watches Stacker side-step down the row, secretly glad that even a man like Stacker can't quite manage to look dignified as he does so. He settles back into his seat, only half-turning his attention towards the players practicing on the field. "When'd you get into Sydney?" 

"Just a few hours ago. I was surprised when Chuck said you were here."

Herc gives Stacker a wan grin. "I take it Chuck's been texting you about how I've been smothering him?"

"That wasn't how he worded it," he replies, diplomatically, with a matching smile.

Herc turns back to field. "Though I suppose, it's nice to get out, get some fresh air. Even if it felt like he was kicking me out of the apartment."

"If it helps, it felt like he was kicking me out as well. Thought it might be nice if I were to join you."

"Can't say he's wrong."

Stacker hums, content. He leans back in the chair, crosses his arms over his chest, his legs stretching out as much as they can in the cramped space between the rows. He's relaxed, lounging even.

Herc wonders how many others have seen him like this.

Not many, he guesses, especially now.

"Think they'll make it to the playoffs?" Stacker asks, eyes on the pitcher.

"Haven't been watching too many of the other teams," Herc admits. He has only started watching the season the past few days, when he had flipped to the sports channel on a whim. “Can’t really say. But the games I’ve seen have been good. Team seems to be doing pretty well.”

It's a warm day. The overhead keeps direct sunlight off them, but sweat pools around Herc's hairline, and his shirt sticks to his skin. 

Stacker leaves, and returns ten minutes later with two more clear plastic cups of beer. "You going to the game tomorrow?" he asks, as he hands Herc's over, and shuffles past Herc back to his seat.

"Probably. You?"

"Don't have a ticket."

"Chuck called in, talked them into giving me an all-access pass. He'd be thrilled to do the same for you. And it's be nice to have company."

Stacker's knee knocks against Herc's as he sprawls in his seat. "I'm going to the game, then."

They tap glasses, drink, and watch the rest of the practice in companionable silence.

 

 

"How was the game?" Chuck asks, when Herc enters their small apartment. Chuck is sprawled across the armchair he was sitting on when Herc left. But his complexion is ashy, and his crutches are in a different position, and it makes Herc’s chest feel tight. Chuck’s been ordered bed rest, only allowed to move under supervision. He’s been reluctant to leave, knowing this would happen.

"It was practice," Herc reminds him, slowly, not for the first time, "but it was nice. Thank you, Chuck."

Chuck grunts in reply.

Herc ducks into the kitchen, pulls out two servings of vegetarian lasagna, and tosses them into the microwave. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. "How're you feeling?"

"Really tired of being asked that," Chuck replies, expression pinched.

Herc closes his eyes, fighting every instinct to keep pushing. Instead, he says, "Stacker enjoyed the practice this afternoon. Do you think you would be able to call in, get him a pass, like you did for me?"

"There's no pass," Chuck says. "I just talked to the highest person I could get, and reminded them who kept Mutavore from completely destroying Sydney. Easy enough to do the same for Stacker."

It's an argument Scott commonly made to get them wherever he wanted to go. The microwave beeps, and Herc retreats back into the kitchen to ready their dinner.

They eat in silence.

 

 

Herc and Stacker meet half an hour before the game starts, and a member of management shows them up to the owner’s box. A private elevator gets them up to the second floor, but there is still a small set of stairs up to the box, and Herc notices that Stacker's gait is not what it was prior to Pitfall. It's not quite the lack of balance that Chuck suffers from, the difficulty readjusting to being pounds of flesh without tons of metal; it's more a careful, calculated pace, a preventative measure to keep from upsetting an old war wound.

Stacker catches Herc's gaze, and gives him a self-deprecating smile.

Herc just gives him an exaggerated shrug, using his left shoulder.

Stacker snorts.

The owner’s box is is similar to the one in Barbagallo Stadium, from when Scott had been invited to throw the first pitch of a Heat game; lush seats, amenities along the sides, and a spectacular view of the field. The front row is already occupied, and so Herc leads Stacker down to the second row.

The men are all well-dressed, some in suits, some just in too-expensive polo shirts and khakis. Stacker is in a red and pink striped t-shirt and jeans, and Herc is wearing a Henley and jeans.

The suspicious looks shift to recognition as they’re shuffling to their seats. 

"Afternoon," Herc says, as he sits down.

The conversations restart, although a touch more muted, with a few indiscreet glances.

The man seated in front of them turns around. “Ranger Hansen, Marshal Pentecost,” he greets. “It’s an honor to have you here. Would you prefer to sit in the front? My associate and I would not mind moving.”

Herc is in the process of resigning from the PPDC, and he keeps his mouth shut, while Stacker says, "We're all here for the game, gentlemen. Herc and Stacker should work just fine here, and the view is no less spectacular one row back.”

Stacker maintains the necessary polite conversation, while Herc keeps his attention on the pre-game batting practice.

A television star takes the mound for the first pitch, and one of the men behind them leans forward. "Why didn't you get the starting pitch? This is your first game here, isn't it? You should be able to get it if you want."

"We're here to watch the game," Herc says, as pleasantly as he manage. From Stacker knocking his heel, Herc guesses it wasn’t quite enough. He keeps his eyes on the game, best he can, but a minute later he reaches up, and rubs at his shoulder, the echoing ache acting up.

The game is enjoyable. Not exactly what he was expecting, though. Herc grew used to watching the television, seeing the game from multiple angles, seeing close-ups, hearing the commentary.

The first inning is scoreless, and the top of the second inning has the Bite taking the lead, 1-0. McClusky is next up to bat for the Sox, and Herc is nervous – McClusky was last season’s MVP, but so far his batting average the games Herc’s seen has been a pretty poor showing, and the sportscasters have agreed. 

Herc hears discontent murmurings from the front row. He scoots forward in his seat, about to ask what their estimations are, only to realize they’re talking about business. He falls back into his seat.

Stacker leans over. "Suits and ties," he says, quietly, into the space just between the two of them. "Want me to go get some refreshments?"

"I'll pass on the caviar."

Stacker snorts, and climbs to his feet.

McClusky gets to second, but he’s tagged out the next play. Herc drinks heavily from the cup Stacker hands him. The next inning passes the same, him and Stacker drinking through the lack of runs. Herc starts commentating on the game, and perhaps he’s a touch louder than he should be, but they should all be here for the game.

At least when the Sox get their first goal, bottom of the fourth inning, their fellow spectators are not too stuffy to not cheer along with the rest of the stadium.

 

 

"How was the game?" Chuck asks, as Herc enters the apartment. He’s sitting in his armchair, looking better than yesterday. 

Herc closes the door behind him. "It was good," he says, walking into the living room. "We won. 2-1."

"I was expecting you to go to a pub after, or something."

"Nah, Stacker and I were too tired." Their fellow spectators were more interesting in talking business, and it wore Herc to be on his best behavior. He steps next to Chuck, and pushes Chuck's hair off his forehead.

Chuck sighs.

His forehead is warm, and his skin is clammy. Not the worst condition he's been in, but Herc still worries. "How–" He catches himself, and continues, "–was your afternoon?"

Chuck looks up at him, and tilts his head so that Herc removes his hand. "It was fine." _I’m fine_ , Herc can read.

Herc takes a step back, sits on the arm of the nearby sofa. The TV is muted behind him, and he asks, "Were you watching the game, or just channel surfing?"

"Spent most of my time sleeping."

Herc rubs at the bridge of his nose. He can’t help the worry at how much time Chuck has spent asleep. But his concern isn't welcome, and Herc has learnt not to push. He sets a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Call if you need anything.”

 

 

The next day, Herc and Stacker return to the stadium a few hours before the game starts. It’s a rematch against the Bite, and bound to a higher attendance on a Friday evening than yesterday’s afternoon. Still, Herc finds the management team they spoke with yesterday. Putting on his flashiest smile, he asks if there were any available seats left..

It takes half an hour of shuffling around, but then they are given tickets for behind home plate. Stacker pulls on a beanie and sunglasses, Herc pulls on a pair of aviators, and then they shuffle into the seats.

Fans start filling the stadium soon after, and it's the largest crowd Herc has been around since leaving Hong Kong. He ignores it, as best as he can, instead opting for leaning in close and speaking with Stacker. He pulls the roster up on his phone, and goes through the stats and batting averages for most of the players on the field.

Herc tries to speak quietly, but he still draws the attention of a few fans around them. The woman on the other side of Stacker leans in, and informs Herc that he's full of shit, that McClusky's stats have been going down and he's going to be traded the next season.

When McClusky hits a home run, Herc gives Stacker a triumphant smack to the shoulder, and leans over, and grins at the other fan. "You were saying?"

"Shut your smug fucking face," she tells him, but she's smiling, and Stacker is cracking up between the two of them.

By the fifth inning, she's reaching over, and punching Herc in the shoulder. Herc is too busy mourning McClusky’s weak hit and the resulting two outs.

Stacker pats him sadly on the shoulder, rubbing at the knot that has started aching, and asks if he needs a beer. The request is overheard by their neighbors, and met with roaring approval. Stacker waves over the nearest vendor, and buys their entire tray, handing over cups to whoever wants one.

Half of it gets spilled after the bases get loaded, and one of the newer team mates scores a home run.

The cheering continues, too, as the Sox get on a roll. The top of the inning has them striking out the Bite before they can make it to base, and then the runs keep coming in for the Sox.

The game is called at the middle of the ninth inning – a 7-2 win. Herc hugs Stacker, his neighbor, Stacker’s neighbor, and more people than he can count.

They get talked into going to the pub afterwards. The sunglasses come off, the cheering intensifies, and a lot of selfies are taken. Everyone is very courteous until Herc brings back up McClusky, and their friend from the game keeps insisting that he's wrong, while Herc insists that the second basemen can't catch a damn ball to save his life.

Stacker spends his time agreeing with both sides, agreeing against Herc just to see him sputter, and Herc punches him in the shoulder, and cheerfully tells him to go fuck himself. Stacker just elbows him in the side, and says something low in Japanese that Herc doesn't catch – he only remembers Stacker and Tamsin using it, and guesses it isn’t polite. Herc strings together all the Russian greetings of good cheer that the Kaidonovskies had taught him and Scott over the years.

Stacker gives out a belly laugh, muddles through a reply in broken Russian, and orders another round for everyone.

 

 

It's sometime around ten at night when Herc finally stumbles up to his apartment. It takes a few tries to get his key into the lock, and get the door open – it's been a while since he drank, much less this heavily. But it occurred to him after his second drink that he wasn't going to be called in to be deployed. The next round of drinks for him and Stacker (and the group they had walked with from the stadium) went on him, and everyone cheered.

Herc lost track of how many rounds came after, and when exactly Stacker called a cab for him.

"Dad?" comes Chuck's voice, drowsy, as Herc shuffles into the apartment.

Herc sways against the kitchen wall, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He can't remember the last time Chuck had called him 'Dad' without any level contempt.

The light flicks on next to the chair, where the blankets are all bundled around Chuck. Chuck’s eyes narrow. “Are you drunk?”

Herc smiles. "It was a really, really good game."

Chuck stares at him “That’s good.”

"How's your evening been?" Herc asks, moving along the wall, stopping at the kitchen. “Need me to get you something to eat?”

He rolls his eyes. "I’m fine. Go to sleep, old man.”

Herc ruffles Chuck’s hair on his way out.

 

 

The Sox schedule has them in Perth for their weekend games. Herc finds himself oddly relieved – in part because his head is still pounding from the post-game celebration last night. Mostly, though, he’s relieved at the thought that he could go. He loves Sydney, has spent most of his life in the city, but with the decommissioning of the ‘dome, with the Breach closed, he doesn’t need to be here.

He wants to be, though.

But it’s not something he can explain to Chuck, and so he tries to explain around it. 

“Why don’t you want to go to Perth? You’ve been. You liked it!”

He spent a few summers there, when he was scarcely a teenager, and some time there for PR events with Scott. He liked Perth well enough, but the memories aren't good ones; they aren't entirely his. He stares at Chuck, trying to figure out how to explain it, when a thought occurs to him. "Do you want me to go?"

Chuck drops his gaze. He looks feverish, and he has spent most of the morning nauseous. "I don't want to answer that question," he says.

Herc closes his eyes, and breathes through his nose. Honesty is forward progress, their counselor assures them, but it still stings. "Would it be alright if I were to invite Stacker over to the watch the game?"

Chuck darts a glance up at him, and hesitates. “Might be nice,” he mumbles, finally.

Herc isn’t sure if the slowness of his answer is guilt or sleepiness. He goes out to the balcony to call to extend an invitation to Stacker; then to Chuck’s physician team to schedule another round of tests.

Stacker arrives twenty minutes before the game starts, one arm cradling a paper bag of groceries, the other carrying a six-pack. He sets the latter on the coffee table, follows Herc into the kitchen with the former. Herc gestures the overview of the apartment – Chuck’s room behind the living room, Herc’s room behind his, the bathroom’s across the hall. Stacker nods at each description, though he hasn’t looked up from unloading the groceries.

Herc snorts at the microwave soft pretzels, but pops a few in.

When they return to the living room, Chuck is eyeing the booze. Alcohol is likely to intensify Chuck’s near-constant vertigo, and the doctors warned against him drinking.

Stacker gets a glass from the drying rack, and pours a finger of the beer, and passes it over.

Chuck looks pathetically grateful.

Herc remains silent. He envies Stacker's easy relationship with Chuck, but part of him is so damn grateful for it – Stacker takes the end of the sofa closer to Chuck, and quietly asks Chuck how he’s doing through the game. Chuck’s answers always seem less defensive with Stacker.

It’s strange watching the game on the television again. Commercials make it easier for slipping to the bathroom, or into the kitchen to start a bag of popcorn. The snacks are closer, and the beer is better priced.

The Sox lose to the Heat, 4-3. Herc has drunk enough that he throws a handful of popcorn at the screen at the final score, but with Stacker’s presence, it’s been a pleasant evening.

"Need a hand with anything?" Stacker asks, as Herc starts storing the leftovers away for tomorrow’s game. “Cleaning anything up?”

Herc shakes his head, and starts ushering Stacker out of the kitchen. "I'll clean just fine. Keeps my own head clear."

"How clear is it now?" Stacker asks, nodding his head towards the five beer bottles next to Herc's chair.

"Get out of here, Stacks," Herc says, the name falling from his lips without a second thought.

Stacker stares at him for a moment, then lets out a huff of a laugh. "Been a long time since anyone's called me that," he says.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Better score, though, hopefully.” Stacker smiles at him. "G'night, Herc."

 

 

"Hey," Chuck says, voice drowsy and tired, his body sunk into the armchair than normal.

Herc stands up, and stretches up. "Ready to head back to your bed?"

Chuck nods. He pushes himself up from the back of the chair, a little bit. "My neck's starting to hurt from all the time I've spent sleeping here."

"Sorry," Herc says, voice going rough. "I should be–"

"Dad, it's not– I was just–" Chuck stammers, angry. He flops back against the chair, mouth tight. "I was making a joke. Stop taking it as an offense against you." His expression goes set even more. "I'm trying not to... not to do that anymore."

Herc nods. "You're right. I'm – I'll keep that in mind, and try not to just assume..."

Chuck gives out a sigh, heavy through his nose.

Herc stands by the chair. Wordlessly, he reaches down and pulls Chuck to his feet, the movement smooth and perfected. Chuck wobbles on his feet, and crashes into him. Herc grunts as Chuck's weight hits him, but he steadies them both, waits for Chuck’s angry breathing to settle. He shifts Chuck, so Chuck's on his right, and then starts walking between the amble space between the furniture and down the short hall to Chuck's bedroom.

Chuck flops easily onto his bed, the covers already down at the foot of the bed.

Herc helps Chuck draw them up, and Chuck rolls onto his side, away from Herc. Chuck grunts, "G'night."

Herc swallows, sets a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. "G'night, son."

 

 

Stacker arrives half an hour before the game begins. He's carrying another six-pack, as well as a small grill. Herc meets him on the balcony with the package of ballpark hot dogs Stacker had brought yesterday. Herc isn't the greatest fan of the pre-game show, less so now that he's getting some attention for it.

(Logging onto his official Twitter for the first time in years to tweet "Hoping for a better game against the Heat today" had seemed like a good idea this morning, but after a few cups of coffee, and seeing screen caps spread like wildfire through sports blogs had made him realize the error of his ways.)

As if following Herc's train of thought, Stacker asks, "Hoping for a better game against the Heat today?"

Herc sighs. "I hadn't had my coffee yet."

Stacker’s smiling. "All the mentions are positive, from what I've seen, if that matters any," he says. "Everyone seems excited that you're rooting for the home team."

"Course I would root for the home team," Herc says. "I've lived in Sydney my entire life, I can't imagine leaving it."

Stacker nods. “Have a plate to take these inside?”

They prepare their food quickly – relish and mustard for Stacker, plain mustard for Herc – and settle in the living room. Herc’s at the end of the sofa closest to the TV, Stacker’s at the end closest to Chuck.

Chuck waves away Stacker’s offer for food, his eyes screwed shut. He’s been doing poorly all day, and while Herc does his best to pay attention to the game, he finds himself constantly looking back at him. By the fourth inning, it’s obvious Chuck needs to return to his bed.

Herc stands up during the commercial break between the top and the bottom of the inning, but Stacker puts a hand on his elbow.

Herc frowns, but nods, and sits back down.

Stacker rises to his feet, and goes over to pull Chuck to his. Chuck makes a noise of protest, and argues, half-asleep, as Stacker helps him down the short hallway to his room. His words are slurred, voice drowsy and indistinct, but what words Herc can make out aren’t in the right order. He opens another beer, and has most of it downed by the time Stacker returns.

Stacker plucks the beer from his fingers, finishes it off, and sits closer to Herc, instead of leaning against the arm. "You doing okay?"

"I'd be better with a better score," Herc says. He turns back to Stacker, and gives him a wry grin. "Think the away uniform's bad luck. They've been doing horribly at all their away games."

"'s a shame," Stacker says, voice grave. He sets his arm around the back of the sofa, and coaxes Herc into leaning back against him. “They’ll do better.”

Herc grabs another beer the next commercial break, handing Stacker his own as well.

The game’s tied by the end of the ninth inning, 2-2, then 3-3 at the end of the tenth.

“This was not a better game,” Stacker concludes, as the Heat win the game with another 4-3 victory.

Herc sighs. “No.”

Stacker nudges his shoulder. “Though I suppose it could have been worse.”

Herc tips his head back. Reluctantly, he agrees, “I suppose.”

“All we can do is hope for a better game next time.”

Herc nods. “And not tweet the team again. ‘s bad luck.”

Stacker laughs.

 

 

Monday afternoon has Herc in the waiting room of the nearest clinic. For the first time since he's started bringing Chuck into bi-weekly appointments, Herc feels bored as the minutes pass. The magazines haven't changed since his last visit, and Herc has already read through them all multiple times.

Herc could text Stacker. It’s always been possibility, but Herc feels hyper aware of the fact Stacker is in town. Herc could ask if he's in a meeting regarding the future of the Sydney 'dome; ask if he wanted to go out for lunch, or if he'd want to bring Herc lunch.

He probably would.

Herc wants him to.

His relationship with Stacker has been on hold for years. It had been easy back in the Glory Days. Then obstacles came up. Tamsin’s decommission and Stacker’s promotion, Scott’s discharge and Chuck’s deployment. 

They’re not obstacles anymore.

He could...

Herc is called to Chuck's exam room, and he sits in the chair next to the exam bed, which hasn't been moved since his last visit here. He holds Chuck's hand, and Chuck doesn't even try and tug it back away this time.

The doctor agrees with Herc, that Chuck is perhaps sleeping more than he should be. But his results are coming back, and things are getting better.

Herc has to remind himself of that frequently through the week.

 

 

Tendo's in Sydney for the same series of meetings that Stacker’s in Sydney for, and staying at the same hotel as well. He’s surprised by Herc’s request, but when Stacker stops by the apartment to pick Herc up, Tendo’s in tow.

“Good to see you,” Herc says, glad Tendo isn’t shaking his hand as firmly as he usually does.

“Good to see you too, brother. And Chuck,” Tendo continues, as he follows Herc into the living room.

Chuck is in the armchair, a sour expression on his face. He grunts in reply.

Herc pinches the bridge of his nose. Chuck and Tendo have gotten along reasonably well in the past, and Herc knows that Chuck  
the reason for Chuck's sour expression is the fact that he knows Herc brought Tendo here essentially to be a babysitter.

Herc ignores thinking about it. "No wild parties while we're out," he says, awkwardly, trying for some semblance of casualness.

"Traffic is running slow,” Stacker says, into the dead air, “we're going to miss the opening pitch if we don't head out.”

Herc takes the save, and they're out the door a minute later. 

The traffic isn't as bad as Herc was anticipating, but the traffic is still slow, and Herc appreciates Stacker's honesty with Chuck. He wishes he could manage more of it himself.

The seats they’re given are slightly to the right of home plate, and half a dozen rows back, but they’re still great seats.

"What do you think? Sox going to win?"

Herc elbows him. "Of course," he replies. He settles back into his seat.

Down behind home, he sees a few familiar faces from the pub from the last home game. One of them – the woman convinced that McClusky was going to get traded, and drank Herc under the table – recognizes them, and waves.

A local charity founder throws the opening pitch, and the first few innings provide a few walked bases but no scores. Herc orders them two beers, cool against the warm afternoon.

"I don't recall you being the biggest fan of baseball," Stacker says, at the top of the sixth inning.

Herc feels like he owes Stacker at least this degree of honesty. He leans in, lowering his voice as he admits, "I'm not the biggest fan of baseball. I enjoyed it back then, whenever I caught a few games, and I'm enjoying it now." He had flipped to the sports channel on a whim; the game was on the bottom of the seventh inning, two outs, a runner on third hoping to tie the game. Herc had a good grasp of the basic rules, and had read up on the rules for the more specifics. He ended up on various sports blogs, which posted schedules for the rest of the season, and Herc’s had little else going on. "It's just – It's a game. And it’s normal. And there wasn't a lot of that, these past few years. And it’s nice.”

Stacker nods. "Football," he says, a few moments later. "The Premier League still ran these past years, but the JFL has only restarted their season. Mako has been following it avidly, and has pulled me in along with her. I've been watching their games when I could. It is nice. Normal."

Herc orders another drink for them both. "To normalcy."

“To normalcy,” Stacker agrees.

“And for the Sox to score.”

Stacker laughs. “And win.”

Herc clinks their plastic cups. “And win.”

 

 

Tendo is swearing in butchered Cantonese when Herc returns from the game. He's sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, a hand of playing cards fanned in front of him. "Hey, Herc," he calls over his shoulder, as he passes a card over to Chuck.

Chuck nods at Herc, then turns back to his cards. "Got any..."

Herc stands behind Tendo and flashes a five.

"Fives?" Chuck asks, smirking.

Tendo turns around and glares at Herc. "Thanks," he says, as he hands over his three cards. "If you're going to team up on me, then I think it's safe to say that I'm going to lose."

"You were already losing."

Tendo rolls his eyes, but he's smiling as he gets to his feet. "If you're back, I'm going to finish off my coffee, and head off."

Herc follows him into the kitchen. "Long night ahead of you?"

"Meeting next Tuesday. The Marshal and I have some paperwork to go over."

"Hope we didn't keep you too long."

Tendo grins. "Nah, it's nice to have some downtime. Relax, a little." He takes a long sip of his coffee. "And Chuck's fine, by the way. Great, even, all things considering. He would have been fine on his own."

"You're a dad," Herc tells him. "You know how it is."

"Yeah," Tendo says, as he leans back against the washing machine. "But mine's a toddler. Yours is twenty-one."

"Yours wasn't in a coma after nearly self-destructing at the bottom of the ocean," Herc argues, voice going rough.

"True. And I can’t imagine what that’s like. But for all the medical issues with Chuck..." Tendo shrugs. “He’s a good kid. He’s getting better. Trust him, trust yourself.”

Herc stares at him. “Your kid’s two.”

Tendo huffs a laugh. “Got it from the Marshal, first.” He thumps Herc on the back as he passes. “Take it easy, Herc.”

 

 

The next game takes the Sox down to Canberra, to play the Cavalry.

By now, Stacker has a routine when he comes to visit for the game. He helps Chuck from his seat on the balcony to his arm chair, bringing a few extra pillows so he can prop him up.

This time, Stacker tosses a shirt to Herc as he passes.

It's a sky blue color, and Herc is laughing even before he unfolds the shirt. McClusky, #18. "Thanks, Stacker," he says. He strips off his Henley, and pulls on the shirt.

"Thought you might appreciate it," Stacker replies. "Also, a few fans on Twitter seem to be wondering why you haven't shown up in Sox gear yet. This should appease them, for the next home game. If it's not too late in the season."

"If they beat the Cavalry, it'll won't be. And they should beat the Cavalry."

"They're not going to," Chuck says, from his spot on his chair, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Oi," Herc says, without any real heat.

The game is a good one. 

Although Stacker keeps tabs on Chuck, Herc can't help but glance back every few innings.

By the sixth inning, Chuck looks like he's losing steam, eyes closed half the time that Herc looks at him. Herc gives Stacker a look, and Stacker nods in reply.

The game cuts to a commercial, and Stacker rises to his feet, and goes over and pulls Chuck up to his.

"'m not tired," Chuck murmurs.

"Yes you are," Stacker says, in the tone of voice Herc's only ever heard when Stacker was speaking to Mako. He positions himself on Chuck’s right, and together they slowly walk the steps out of the short hall.

When they enter Chuck’s room, Herc turns back to the television, only distantly paying attention to the plays. Guilt and regret gnaws at him – he doesn’t want to regret the things he’s never said.

"You know," Herc starts, in the middle of the next inning, after Stacker has returned, "I never asked you how you were."

Stacker nods.

"I should have. But I don't think I wanted to know. I couldn't take the possibility that both of you were..."

“And his recovery has been more difficult than mine,” Stacker says, after a few quiet moments, “I've had a drop attack or two, and have experienced some of the same symptoms, but it was a harder ejection for him than for me. But he's improving, and I'm doing fine. I've been on extra metharocin doses as well, but Striker was a Mark-5, didn't have the same radiation concerns as Coyote. The prognosis isn’t great, and won't be for some time, but for now, I'm doing fine."

 _Stay in the now_ had always been Lightcap’s advice – to help with the Drift, to help with everything after.

Herc could use all the help he can get. He turns to face Stacker. "I'm glad you’re doing alright," he tells him. "And I'm glad you're here."

Stacker smiles at him. "I know, Herc."

"Yeah," Herc replies. "But I wanted to say it."

Stacker's smile grows. "I'm glad."

The next inning, Stacker's arm wraps around the back of the sofa, and Herc instinctually leans back into Stacker.  
The game is incredible, and the score assures that the Sox are going to make it to the playoffs.

The anchors on SportsCenter are just as glad as Herc is. Even the old player from the Cavalry agreed that it was a great game, each team giving it their best. There are a lot of highlights, and Herc enjoys watching them, and he enjoys that Stacker is not moving to leave yet.

He imagines he could spend the rest of the night here, reliving a great game.

The highlights of the game stretch on, turning into the highlights of the season, as Herc starts to slowly doze. Highlights of the Ace’s season start becoming intertwined, as the sportscasters start analyzing each teams’ chances during the playoffs.

"I don't care about this as much," Herc says. The speculation reminds him too much of life in the 'dome late towards the end, when every move was calculated and there was no room for error. Baseball's a game, it should be enjoyed.

Stacker moves to get the remote, and he lowers the volume. He sets the remote back down, and settles against Herc.

Herc turns towards him. The afternoon has long passed, and there's only the low glow of the kitchen to the side, the TV behind him, the faint light from Herc’s bedroom illuminating Stacker. “I’m glad you’re here,” Herc repeats, voice hoarse.

Stacker smiles, and pulls Herc in closer. The kiss is slow and languid and familiar. Stacker's stubble scrapes against Herc's cheek, while his hand traces the curve of Herc’s jaw. It’s comfortable in a way Herc hasn’t felt in years.

Herc tell himself the years don’t matter, not right now. He pulls back, and sets his forehead against Stacker's. "Stay," he says.

Stacker does.

 

 

The next morning, Herc wakes up in his bed with Stacker's arm wrapped around his waist.

Herc takes a moment, just enjoying himself, the patch of blue sky he can see through his window, the feel of Stacker's body pressed against his own. It's a sensation he hasn't felt since before their first try on the Breach failed, and more than that, there's a sense of contentment he hasn't had in a very long time.

Herc may be happy.

He presses against Stacker for a moment, leaning his head up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Mornin'."

Stacker yawns. "Mornin'."

Herc pulls out of his embrace, and grabs his jeans from the floor. He sticks his head into Chuck's room, waits until he sees the fall and the rise of his chest, before he continues to the kitchen. He turns the coffeemaker on, picks up his McClusky t-shirt where it had been abandoned on the floor, and returns to Chuck's doorframe until he hears the coffee percolate.

He pours himself a cup (strong, black, the root of relentless teasing from Tamsin), and pours Stacker a cup as well (little touch of milk, little touch of sweetener, another root of Tamsin’s teasing).

Stacker has dressed, and is coming out of the bedroom when Herc approaches. He goes back to Chuck's door, watching him sleep. He's been sleeping too much, and it still worries Herc, but he's trying to not let it bother him.

“He’s fine,” Stacker tells him. He takes his coffee from Herc, then takes Herc’s hand, and tugs him out to the balcony.

 

 

Stacker meets Herc in the stadium that next Wednesday.

Herc wonders briefly whether or not he should hug him, before Stacker takes the decision out of his hands, pulling him into a short embrace. 

They sink down into the chairs, knees and shoulders casually brushing, as though nothing has changed. Herc’s chest loosens at the thought. “How was the meeting yesterday?”

Stacker lets out a long sigh through his nose. “I am glad Tendo joined me for it.”

Herc keeps his gaze on the field, shame burning low in his gut. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” he says. “But I’m not sorry I resigned.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you were never great at the politicking.”

Herc gently elbows him.

Stacker laughs. He wraps his arm around the back of Herc's chair, not touching Herc, just his presence there. His voice turns more serious as he continues, “Your support has always been more important to me than your involvement, and despite what you may think, that has not wavered. And I appreciate it, Herc.”

Herc smiles.

A few quiet moments pass, before Stacker asks, “And Chuck? Still improving?”

Herc closes his eyes. The past few days have been difficult, as all of the days following Pitfall have been. “Still improving,” he says, finally.

They fall into a comfortable silence.

A good half hour into the practice, one of the assistant coaches makes his way up from the field to them. "Excuse me? Mr. Hansen, Mr. Pentecost?"

"Yes?" Herc answers, warily.

The man smiles. "I hope you are enjoying your time?"

"Of course. It's nice to see them when it's a bit more nice and quiet, without the crowds."

The man's smile wavers. "I can understand that you might like your time to yourself," he starts, "but some of the team members were wondering if you would be interested in throwing a practice ball or two — perhaps even throwing the opening pitch for the opening final game."

"My right arm's a bit shot," Herc says, shortly.

Stacker knocks his knee against Herc's. "Might be interesting to go down for a few minutes. Didn’t you want to yell at McClusky for that Bite game?”

It's true. "No cameras?" he asks. There have been no official referendums from the PPDC regarding former-Ranger's behaviors, but Herc knows well enough to keep news of his injuries out of the public.

"No paparazzi," the man hedges. "We were hoping for a few shots – showing your interest in the team. Raising morale, getting a higher viewership," the man continues bluntly. "Telling the Aces to go fuck themselves."

Herc snorts at that.

Stacker leans in. "Can't keep out of the eye forever, Herc. Do it on your terms, but this might not be a bad place to start."

Herc looks at him for a few long moments. "You're coming with me," he says, as he rises to his feet, giving Stacker a hand up.

"Can't stay too long," Stacker adds, as they start down the concrete steps. "Mako and Raleigh are flying in, I'll need to leave to pick them up from the airport. You're welcome to accompany me then, if you want."

“Of course.”

Herc and Stacker touch down onto the field to cheering from the Sox players. There’s far more attention than Herc would like, but the PPDC public relation office trained him well in smiling for ‘candid’ photos. When it goes on longer than comfortable, Herc asks, “Shouldn’t you all be practicing?”

It elicits a round of laughter, and the photographer snaps one more picture.

Before Herc and Stacker make it halfway back to their seats, McClusky pulls Herc in for a genuinely candid series of selfies on his phone.

“Delete the first one,” Stacker says, as he watches McClusky flip through the pictures. “Startled is not a flattering look.”

“Sorry,” McClusky tells Herc. “I probably should have asked first, but–”

Herc just shakes his head. “It’s alright. Just, no more easy outs, got it?”

“Got it,” he replies, laughing, before jogging back to his team.

 

 

The only flight that Mako and Raleigh were able to get is one that has them landing in the middle of the day.

Herc avoids crowds as much as he can. Questions about how he and Chuck are doing are difficult, and the gratitude is even harder to respond to. Thankfully civilian clothing and sunglasses and beanies make them harder to recognize, especially in a place where people are too preoccupied to pay too much attention to other people.

Mako had texted to tell Stacker she and Raleigh would be taking their time to deboard, letting the rush pass them.

Herc and Stacker wait outside the main terminal, people watching.

People pass, and pass, and pass, and Herc finds himself getting teary-eyed. Crowds at the games were easier to manage, with the obvious distraction. There’s no such distraction here, and Herc is hit by a sudden gratitude that they're alive. Herc didn’t pilot in Pitfall, and there were casualties in the last few kaiju attacks, but so many more are alive.

Herc’s blinking back tears when Mako and Raleigh come into sight. Raleigh looks worn and a little overwhelmed, but Mako looks brilliant, bright strands of blue hair falling loose from her beanie. Stacker leads their reunion into a corner, and Herc watches with some degree of surprise as Mako hugs Stacker. For all the years Herc has known them, he doesn't think he's ever seen such public affection. He wonders if it has anything to do with a Drift bleed with Raleigh, who otherwise has had an arm around Mako, or if it's just Mako herself.

Herc gets a hug next. He doesn’t examine it too deeply, only smiles and hugs her back.

 

 

The stadium is packed. They don't get seats behind the home plate, the seats already sold and unwilling to be bartered away. Instead, they’re put behind the home dugout, and it may be a better view. Herc takes the furthest seat to home, Stacker taking the seat next to him, Mako and Raleigh shuffling in after.

While Herc and Stacker had mostly blended in, the four of them are too recognizable together. After the first few requests for pictures and autographs, Herc finds himself loosening up, his smiles coming easier for the pictures. Mako and Raleigh have been getting the most attention following Pitfall, but Herc’s been protecting Sydney for years. 

Herc – then Stacker – turned down throwing the opening pitch, but Herc had passed along a list of other candidates. He gives up a cheer when the announcer introduces one of the J-techs from the Sydney 'dome, and the rest of the crowd joins in as she pitches a slider to the home catcher.

It's a close game – no scores until the third inning, the Sox trailing 0-1, until they tie it up the next inning. The innings past scoreless until the bottom of the ninth, when the Aces take the win, 2-1.

Herc isn't as disappointed as he thought he would be; but at the same time, it's more depressing than he would hope.

The only thing more depressing is seeing Chuck asleep on the chair when they return, the TV on and turned to the sports channel.

 

 

Herc talks to his landlord about getting another piece of furniture into the apartment. It's a small, narrow apartment, and they can't get in the loveseat that was part of the three-furniture piece set, but Herc asks if he could borrow the landlord's ottoman.

Herc invites Stacker over an hour and change before the game, and together they take the ottoman – bypassing the out of service elevator – and start hefting it up the two flights of stairs. "Sorry I was late," Stacker says, even though he was only running late by a few minutes. "Traffic wasn't great coming over."

"You should just stay here, then," Herc pants. This is more physical activity he’s had since his last drop, and his shoulder is starting to feel it. It's not bad, not enough that he doesn't smile up at Stacker. "Stay through the playoffs. Past then, if you want."

Stacker smiles down at him, slow and spreading. "I will take that under consideration, Mr. Hansen," he says, as they start up the next flight of stairs.

They put the ottoman under the window, pressed up against the wall. Herc seriously questions whether or not it will be big enough to sit Mako and Raleigh, and if it will even be comfortable, but it's the best they can do for now.

Stacker brought a small mini-grill with him, and he's just finished up grilling a package of ballpark-style hot dogs on the balcony when Mako and Raleigh arrive. She's in baby-blue and white, Raleigh’s in just a white shirt, and it makes Herc smile. As does the twelve-packs they’re carrying. He's able to distract them, taking the twelve-pack of beer from Raleigh and trying to fit it in the fridge, taking the hotdogs from Stacker and putting them in the oven to keep warm, and Stacker helps Chuck into his armchair while they pretend not to notice.

Chuck settles in his chair. Mako settles against the wall on the ottoman, with Raleigh sitting beside the ottoman, leaning back against the side. Stacker takes the far seat, and Herc settles against his side, not bothering to feel self-conscious as Stacker wraps his arm around the back of the sofa.

The game starts better – the pitcher strikes out all three of the first players, and the Sox score a home run on their first batter.

Herc stands up to get a can of beer for everyone, but Raleigh waves at him to sit down. He crawls under the television, calling out for orders as he does.

He comes back with four beers, passing one to each of them, looking apologetic as he skips over Chuck.

Mako takes a sip of her beer, then passes it back to Chuck.

Chuck looks surprised, and though he takes the can, he doesn't drink.

It's still a terrible idea for Chuck to drink, but Herc turns to the TV. "It wouldn't be the first time," is all he says.

Raleigh laughs until Chuck tells him to shut up.

The game is tied by the end of the fifth inning, 3-3 each.

And something happens, but the sixth inning has the score 3-4, and by the end of the inning, the score is 7-4, and everyone is yelling out at each new score. After a particularly good hit, Herc glances around the room.

Raleigh is sitting on the floor, leaning back against the ottoman, body relaxed and content like it never is on the interviews. Mako is at the edge of the ottoman, leg pressed against Raleigh’s arm, a hint of a smile on her face. Chuck is leaning forward in his chair, eyes glued to the screen, looking more alert and alive than he has in weeks.

Behind him, Stacker just leans in to brush a kiss against Herc’s temple. 

Herc smiles, turns back around, and watches the game.


End file.
